


Divine Favor

by deathmallow



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Crossover, Gen, NWN, NWN2, Paladins FTW, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmallow/pseuds/deathmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Aribeth gets a bit more than she planned for one winter afternoon on a consultation for a fellow Tyrran, and a young Casavir starts on a path that'll change his life.  NWN/NWN2 crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divine Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Posted initially at The Pit. Mea culpa. Another older work of mine.
> 
> This one-shot is set 9 years pre-NWN and 19 years pre-NWN2.
> 
> Dreamed up because I saw a lot of similarities in Aribeth and Casavir: the struggle with paladin ideals versus human emotions, the moral fall, the whole "running off to the Sword Mountains and hiding and killing stuff" thing...
> 
> Don't blink or you might actually miss a reference to Bishop in here too. ;)
> 
> Trigger warnings for brief, non-explicit mentions of torture and of slaughter and kidnapping by coastal raiders.

_Nightal 15, 1364 DR, the Fifth Year of Nasher's Protectorate_

It was now a tenday to Yule, and for the fifth time in as many days, I was protesting the very idea that I should have to attend such foolishness as a winter ball, particularly dressed in silly fripperies.

"But," the little gnome tailor sighed, "you're a _lady_ of Neverwinter. You should dress as appropriate to your station!"

"I am captain of the sworn guards of Lord Nasher," I said tautly, gesturing to my blue tunic with its watchful eye. "Think you that I should look well if he should be injured or assassinated?"

"You can keep a perfectly vigilant eye on your lord dressed in something besides armor," he scowled, his thick blond caterpillars of eyebrows fairly dancing in irritation. "Besides, just think of it." He tugged a bolt loose from the stack of fabrics fairly covering the table in the castle library, spreading the richness of it out for me to see. "This embroidered Fallorian silk…the bright blue of it, and the silver thread? Perfect with your blue-grey eyes, my lady, your fair skin, and any tailor worth his salt knows that blue brings out the red in a woman's hair so charmingly. And see how the colors are close to that of your uniform, so you might still be recognized for your station?"

"It is rather fine," I admitted, unable to resist touching the cool, slippery sheen of it, and allowing myself to be somewhat seduced by the vision of losing myself to the joy of celebration as I had been able to do years ago without a care.

"An underskirt of cloth of silver, a low neckline—you have the figure to carry it off." I tried to hide a sudden blush. "A fine necklace, earrings to draw attention to those exotic elven ears…my gods, what a sight you'll make then! You'll have the men trying to crawl under your skirts all night long."

"Master Threadneedle, I should _hope_ they would not. I'm a paladin of Tyr," I snapped.

"Come now," he coaxed with a guileless smile, "my lady Aribeth, just because you're a paladin doesn't mean that you can't show your loveliness. You're not bloody well married to Tyr, after all."

I thought about the walk in the Dolranian Gardens I'd taken the week before with the new half-elven cleric who'd recently entered Nasher's service. A pleasant afternoon; I had been able to forget myself as a paladin and simply enjoy his quiet, sweet company. If I wore this dress as Sallonar Threadneedle suggested, would young Fenthick smile to see me so? "But I'm quite married to duty as every paladin is," I said wryly. "It's a difficult thing for a man to ignore that."

"I'm not speaking of marriage," he said very patiently, sitting back in his chair. "That's your matter. I'm only suggesting that you present yourself as the pretty, young half-elf you are and watch the men go mad."

Feeling myself weakening, I considered for a moment. "I imagine I'm obliged to still wear my sword…I can't entirely forget my duties."

"Dear gods," he groaned. "Have you any idea what a belt and sword would _do_ to the lines of my creation?"

I hadn't quite come up with a good reply to that when there was a knock on the door. "Come!" I called, shaking my head. If I wasn't obliged as a lady of the city and leader of the Neverwinter Nine to attend, I'd just as happily sit at home and pass on the entire mess.

"My lady," Brother Hlam said as he opened the door, inclining his head respectfully. "Is my timing poor?" His eye roved over the brocades, velvets, and laces.

"No," I said, somewhat grateful for the interruption. "Master Threadneedle, we shall continue this discussion later."

The little gnome sighed deeply, gathering his tool kit and bolts of fabric with brisk motions and sweeping them into his arms. "The best tailor in Neverwinter isn't always at beck and call, my lady, particularly this time of year with festivities and everybody needing finery. However, I shall make an hour for you tomorrow. Say, four in the afternoon?"

"Very well, I thank you." I waited until he'd bustled out of the library and turned to Hlam. "Be seated, please. Would you like a drink?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, thank you." He took a chair opposite me, hands clasped and resting on the tabletop. I waited, knowing whatever he had to say would be no waste of my time: Hlam was not a man to bother with simple trivialities. Most warriors weren't, and for all his gentle voice and kind manner, he was a fierce fighter and had lost an eye years ago in combat against a band of drow before he came to the priesthood. He hadn't felt the call to dedicate himself as a paladin, but his service to our shared god ran deep and sincere.

"Temple business, I assume."

"Yes—it's regarding one of our fosterlings."

"You have another new one?" I sighed, shaking my head at the unfairness of it. "Cyric's left many orphans this past season." After rising to godhood during the Avatar Crisis six years before, the new god of death seemed to enjoy his task too much. This year, the ague had ravaged the northern reaches of the Sword Coast, and many had sickened and died. More than a few village priests of all faiths had been buried along with those they served. And for those children who had lost their parents and were unfortunate to not have further family, the temples in the cities took them in as wards. Since the epidemic had begun early in Flamerule, the Neverwinter Lanthanderites now had nine fosterlings, with the Helmites, Mystrans, Sunites, and the clergy of several other deities taking on a handful as well. Hopefully the cold of winter that was felt outside Neverwinter walls would now slow the spread of disease. "This makes seven Tyrran wards now under the temple's care?"

"Seven, yes, but it's not a new child. I told you of the boy from the Iron Shore who ran away shortly after he arrived."

"Yes…yes, the one who climbed over the wall, you said." Impressive, really, as the wall was fully ten feet tall and slick with moss. "So the little squirrel's finally returned?"

"Not precisely. I was in the Docks three days ago, my lady, and I found him there. He'd been living there for a month, though for a young boy without family, 'surviving' might be more apropos. He was in a poor state and it didn't take much for me to convince him to come back."

"I thought he would have left the city already. Did he give his reasons for tarrying?"

"He said he was trying to get together the provisions to make the journey home."

"He's clever enough to think of that, at least, instead of just setting out on the road and dying of cold his first night." Many an adult didn't have a lick of sense about traveling the wilderness. "Sorry for my bluntness, but Hlam, I don't think you came here just to tell me about finding your lost kid."

He nodded, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "And so I haven't. I didn't meet the boy when he came to Neverwinter shortly after Samhain, but those who did swear to me that they sensed nothing unusual about him. And Brother Yakin told Oleff that both the boy's parents were mundanes."

I stared at him, suddenly comprehending. "And so you imply something's changed in the interim?"

"When I found him down by the Burning Coals, there was an odd…energy about him, Aribeth. My granddad four generations back was a wizard, and though I'm certainly no mage, I've got just enough of true seeing that I can sense magic in another." He glanced at me. "With you, I hear the vibrations of it as high pitch—almost like a bird's trill because it's powerful. It's just the same with him. Oleff listened to my suspicions, and Jehmali from the Cloaktower came to see him yesterday."

If it was serious enough that one of the Many-Starred Cloaks had been called in to examine the child, Oleff was truly playing it cautious until he had confirmation. "And her conclusion is that he's been gods-gifted?"

"Yes…very much so." His single dark eye looked at me, gauging my reaction. I began to figure out the direction of this conversation.

"How old is the boy?"

"Yakin said he turned eight halfway through Marpenoth, just a bit before Samhain." He sighed sadly. "Poor little fellow. His parents must have died only a few days afterwards."

"Mmm," I deliberately kept the sound noncommittal. "But perhaps that's a bit young to be paladin-called."

"We don't know what happened to him in the Docks, but Tyr obviously has some plan that he would bestow magic on the boy. He obviously has courage to have survived such an ordeal. Our god works in strange ways at times, my lady, and as for a paladin, I think it matters not the age of a prospect as much as his heart. Hannia Truewater was only seven when she was called by Ilmater, after all, and there have been others." After a few moments of silence, he smiled apologetically. "Forgive me. I don't presume to dictate to you in matters concerning your shield brethren."

"Ask what you will, then."

"Oleff is frankly at a loss what to do with him right now. We know he suddenly has divine magic, but where it's to be directed is uncertain. I've spoken to him as much as he'll let me these past few days, and I believe you are the person to find out if he has the calling. If not, we start fresh with new possibilities. Would you please speak to him and find out the truth of the matter?"

"And if he does?"

"Then I'd ask that you take him for your apprentice—so few people can be steadfast and righteous enough to walk your path, Aribeth. If a good candidate exists, we would be remiss in our duty to Tyr and the people of this land not to encourage him. He would live at the temple, of course, but to train in the ways and duties of a paladin…who better than you to instruct him?"

I held up a hand to stop what I could sense would be further well-reasoned argument. Dealing with the servants of Tyr means one always expected a logical case for whatever they wished to discuss—such a thing came from dedication to the god of justice and law. "All right, Hlam, don't get hasty with your plans. I can't promise you anything until I see the child and sound him out." I reached for my cloak hung over the back of my chair. "Shall I come now?"

"If you wouldn't mind, I think it would be best to have some answers."

I followed Hlam from the castle into the Merchant Quarter towards the temple, turning my thoughts over. I was only twenty-five, a paladin for just four years, and still finding my own way as both a woman and a servant of the gods. To pledge my responsibility for the instruction of an apprentice and guide his steps to paladinhood…I wasn't quite certain I was capable. He was only a young boy, and I knew I wasn't the instinctively maternal sort. And even though I was only a half-elf and the short number of my years would far more have mirrored my human mother than my elven father had they both not been killed by the orcs, I had been raised in a community largely of elves. And so I still didn't fully understand human ways at times. An apprentice…a human, and a mere child; I thought, _Is this your latest trial, Tyr?_ To serve Neverwinter and Nasher was not difficult. Perhaps the Even-Handed felt that a new challenge, meant in order to test me and hopefully improve my own abilities, was in store.

I only realized how lost I had been in my own thoughts when Hlam placed a hand on my shoulder. "Sister Anhara says she saw him out in the gardens earlier. I have to return to my duties, but please let me know your conclusions."

I nodded, heading for the temple garden, eyeing the wall as I went. To have felt the need to climb it and escape into the night, the child must have felt a desperate reason to leave. Surely he was sad for the loss of his parents and possibly confused, but the life of a temple ward wasn't something to be so greatly feared that barely surviving as a Docks urchin would be preferable.

I scanned the gardens for a few minutes, seeing only one shy young girl peeking out the back door of the temple and scampering back inside at the sight of me. There was certainly no boy out here to be found. Obviously he wasn't in the temple either, that nobody had remarked on him being there. "Damn and blast," I sighed. "The boy's escaped again. 'Take a look and see what you make of him', Hlam says! What do _I_ say? He's most likely a rogue in the making, a shadowdancer, a bloody assassin for all I know!"

I turned to stalk back into the temple and give poor Hlam a piece of my mind for his goodhearted naïveté. Just then there was a rustle overhead that caught my ear. Glancing up into the spreading branches of the large, ancient linden planted in the garden, I caught a flash of color amidst the green leaves. Blue…the color of Tyr's vestments and banners; and of the cloak, surcoat, and shield his paladins won the right to carry into battle. It was the color, too, of the tunics of Tyrran fosterlings.

I couldn't help a slight smile. So it seemed I'd found him after all. Trust a boy to see the linden only as children do, as something to be climbed. Oleff would kick up a terrific fuss if he ever found out that the sacred tree of Tyr had been put to that use.

I considered asking him to come down, but decided quickly enough that for a child inevitably unsettled from his ordeal and the profound discoveries of recent days, it might be better to meet him on his own terms. At least I wasn't in armor, and I could only hope Oleff wasn't watching. _If so,_ I thought with a slight smile, _at least I should answer to Nasher's high justice instead of Oleff's low._

"So, _orava_ , do you mind if I come up?" I called.

"If you want," a quiet reply came. Grasping hold of the lowest branch, I braced my boots against the trunk, hoping the soles wouldn't slip too badly. I hadn't scampered up trees in years, not since I had been a barefoot child, and I climbed clumsily and slowly at first. But as I gained the higher branches, a keen pleasure struck me with a rediscovered delight. The sensation of cool, smooth bark beneath my fingers, and being surrounded, cradled even, by the strong branches and bright heart-shaped leaves of this small bit of the wild, even planted as it was in the midst of city walls: I'd almost forgotten the joys of Mielikki's domain with as long as I'd been away from forests.

As I neared him, he got to his feet and moved further out to spare room for me to sit as well. Seeing his easy agility and balance on the gently swaying branch nearly thirty feet above the ground, I somehow had no trouble believing this to be a boy who could scamper over a simple garden wall.

I saw he had tucked a book through his belt to leave his hands free. "You were reading?" I asked, sitting down and leaning back against the trunk of the tree for further balance. He sat as well, dusting his hands off briskly.

"I was—it's quiet up here in the tree. Ma'am," he added in a hurry, his speech full of the broad, almost song-like lilt that was the accent of the iron-born. "I figured I could be alone a bit there like I was atop the cliffs back home." So, he didn't see the tree as a mere plaything, but rather as a place of solace. Already I was forced to alter my assessment of him.

I studied him then. He was a wiry, slender human boy; tousled hair black as a raven's wing with a slight wave, fair skin with a smattering of freckles, and keen, intelligent sky-blue eyes. Hlam was right: he'd had a hard time in the Docks. He was too thin for his height, and the bones of his face that should have been hidden in childish softness stood out—a few weeks of good food would fix that at least. Still, dressed as he was in a simple belted tunic and trousers, he wouldn't have been remarkable in a crowd of a dozen other boys of similar age but for one thing that was made clear as I murmured a small spell of True Seeing.

There was definite magecraft emanating from him: Hlam heard magic as vibrations of sound, with stronger powers producing higher pitch. With truth-sight, I saw it myself as a gleam of gem-colors around their owner, with more powerful mages surrounded with a greater light. I knew Hlam himself had just the faintest glow of sardonyx, with a hint of obsidian from the inevitable evils of life that had touched him. The boy had sapphire and pearlescent white, shining brightly enough that it coruscated around him. Powerful, indeed, though a thin thread of smoky grey laced through his aura told me he'd already met a bit of darkness in his young years.

I realized then that I had stared rudely at him and then magically scryed him, and I hadn't even gotten Hlam to tell me his name. Shaking my head slightly to clear it, I asked, "What's your name, child?"

"Casavir," he said shyly, avoiding my eyes a moment. "Casavir Erelissohn, ma'am." He paused only a moment then added, "Most people call me 'Cas', though."

"I'm Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande." He said nothing to that, though he nodded politely. The silence stretched on until it dawned on me that he was waiting for me to state my purpose. "Brother Hlam tells me that you've recently returned from...ah… an adventure of sorts."

He looked down suddenly, pink appearing in his cheeks. "I shouldn't have run off, I know it. They were nice enough at the temple…"

"No person owns another along the whole of the Sword Coast, my boy. You were free to leave if you truly wished, but we would be concerned for it. You _are_ too young yet to be on your own."

"Yeah…well, doesn't matter what they have planned. A lady from some Cloaktower," he pronounced it "clocktower", "came yesterday to take a look at me; I guess Reverend Oleff's sending me with her to work. Brother Yakin taught me my reading and ciphering, after all…it's useful, and I don't mind now being made out for a scribe or a bookkeeper like I did when I got here in the city. I've seen there're worse things out there."

"Have you now?" I tried to encourage him without making him wary that I was trying to sound him out.

He glanced at me, and sighed. "I figured I'd get home and tell them that even if my parents wanted it, Neverwinter wasn't for me, and my da's friend Kerestel would probably take me in. I knew I'd need some stuff to make it; it's a good six, seven days' walk. So I figured I'd do some errands, run some messages, maybe clean up at the taverns…earn the coppers for a bedroll, some food, a bit of flint, and a dagger to look after myself." I couldn't help but nod a little in approval at his deliberate forethought. He'd thought of most everything he'd need to make the journey.

"For a child to find opportunity to earn coin, the character of a city is…probably different from what you're used to in a village." I put it as gently as I could. The people of Neverwinter could be downright harsh towards the needy, a thing the temples of Lathander, Ilmater, Tyr, and countless other benevolent deities berated them for.

He let out a snort of amusement, strangely wry for one so young. "I got the tar beat out of me right away by three kids who took my good cloak, and I ended up sleeping in the alleyway. Seemed like everybody thought I was a pickpocket so they'd yell at me when I offered to run them an errand, or just send a kick my way."

"Why didn't you just return to the temple?"

He looked at me as though I'd just suggested he take a flying leap off Castle Never. "I couldn't do that. I'd run off and pretty well told 'em to take their kindness and cram it. Tyr sees that you get only what you earn, you know, and I was stupid."

Somehow I could imagine that being the view of Tyr shaped by the unforgiving Iron Shore and the tough, proud people who managed to live there. "Lathander may be the god to honor a fresh start, but Casavir, Tyr is also the god of forgiveness and mercy—such is part of justice. We would hardly fault a boy for a simple foolish action."

He blushed deeply, obviously embarrassed. "Aye, well. Brother Hlam told me they'd been looking to find me. I didn't know that; I kept pretty well out of sight. I fibbed about my name, tried to not say much. I know I stick out with the way I talk." He cleared his throat, suddenly fidgeting anxiously. "I…tried to be good, but sometimes I just got so hungry…"

I immediately understood. "You mean that you stole food. You regret it, though?"

"Yeah." He nodded, not meeting my eyes. "I remember who I did take it from, at least, and how much. I figured if I ever managed to dig myself out I'd try and pay 'em back."

He surprised me again with that remark. "Repenting what wrongs you've done is the first step to righteousness, Casavir. And that you intended to make restitution if you could—"

"Resti—" He looked suddenly confused. I gave myself a mental slap on the forehead. He was an intelligent enough child that I'd automatically used a difficult word without thought. I honestly needed to spend more time around the young in order to deal with them better.

"Restitution. It means you intended to try and pay them back for what you did. You have a good sense of justice if you not only felt bad, but wanted to make up for it."

"Oh." He brightened, giving me the first smile I'd seen from him, shy and sweet. "Well, thanks, ma'am." I couldn't help a little smile of my own at his earnestness, and I almost enjoyed his ignorance of the formal address my title earned me.

"I'm sure Hlam will help you find ways to earn the money to do just that." Some particularly dirty chores, perhaps, to help drive home the point, but I thought the lesson was pretty well learned already.

"Good. At least I got out of it, and I lived there just for a month. Those orphan kids there, they're stuck. They let me live with them a bit seeing as they felt sorry, but they were getting ready to throw me out unless I let Leldon show me how to pick pockets to earn my keep. They can't think they'll ever get out of it, they told me so. And it makes them mean and scared; they're like Jaril's dog that he kicked around as a pup. It just doesn't seem right that a kid should have to live like that and grow up evil 'cause nobody cares."

I glanced up towards the heavens, my view obscured by green leaves, but things were becoming much clearer with his honest answers. _So, you do move in strange ways, blessed Tyr_. The callous indifference he had seen towards those who were helpless, and also his desperate petty thievery; that explained the hint of grey in his aura. And yet, nobody could commit to fighting evil and injustice unless they had encountered and knew them. "Casavir, this might be an odd question, but please answer me honestly. You felt it was unjust how things were. Did you…pray to the gods at all about it?"

His eyes lit up with a brilliant flash of blue and he nodded eagerly. "Yes, how did you know? I said it wasn't right how things were looking, that they'd better see it and then do something. Or else they weren't worth much."

I suppressed a quick laugh. Only the innocence of a child, or a dangerous irreverence, would lead a person to _demand_ anything of the gods. Had he caught them in an uncharitable bent that day, the divine circle might have decided to let their less benevolent members teach him the meaning of humility. As was, he'd apparently caught them in good humor, though I could well imagine their amusement at a boy, the merest cub, standing up to them and challenging them to act. And so Tyr had obviously admired young Casavir's courage and will, and granted him the gifts to someday fight for the justice he felt so fiercely about.

When I thought about it, it could turn into a very long explanation. I decided that the idea of gods as the keepers of the Balance was perhaps too much to delve into today, that bounty and ill must alike fall upon the people of the world for its own good. "Bold words, my boy, and yet it seems they've heard you. You must understand that Lord Ao rarely permits the deities to act in mortal matters directly. The struggle between good and evil, order and chaos, with so much raw power being turned upon the world without restraint…it could well destroy everything."

"Oh."

"So it's up to us to do the work, and the gods assist us sometimes by giving us a touch of power to help in that task. Such as what's happened to you."

"Happened? What's that?"

"I meant you having divine magic."

Now his dark brows knotted in outright confusion. "Nah, I've got no magic, ma'am. I never have. My folks were just mundanes."

 _Oleff Uskar, you bloody closemouthed twit_. Oleff was an excellent Reverend and Justiciar, but sometimes his position's requirement of impartiality led him to be far too reticent and aloof. Obviously he'd not told Casavir, probably planning to do so when he had the child's future all figured out. No wonder the boy had thought that Jehmali was coming to apprentice him as a scribe and take him away.

"Cas," I said, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hlam can sense magical energy in a person, and he said you had it when he found you in the Docks. As for Jehmali; the Cloaktower," I pronounced it correctly, "houses the Mage's Guild of Neverwinter. Oleff asked her to come see you and confirm what Hlam said. I can see the power in you too. I'm surprised nobody told you, and I'm sorry that we've given you confusion from it. But the truth is that Tyr heard you wishing something would be done to aid the helpless, and he granted you mage's abilities to do just that."

He looked up at me with startled wide eyes. "Nah," he said in little more than a whisper, "you don't mean it?"

"I do." Showing him my right hand, I pointed to the engraved white gold ring of protection marking me for a paladin. "Do you know what this is?"

"It means you're a paladin, right?" I nodded. "Thought you were—I got that feeling on my skin when you came up here like I did when I got close to that paladin of Ilmater who came through the village last winter. It feels kind of warm-like, and that there's nothing to be scared of." He smiled ruefully, looking a bit thoughtful. "I would have really liked that feeling a tenday ago."

"That's my aura. And you read a good deal, I imagine, so you probably know a paladin isn't supposed to lie. I swear to you on the name of Tyr, the Just God whom I serve, that what I tell you is the truth." I took a deep breath. "And, if you should choose to, I promise that I would help you become a paladin yourself."

His face lit up, and he grinned in earnest now, showing the gap of a recently missing tooth. I couldn't help but smile in return at how he beamed at me. "Really? Me, be a paladin?"

"Tyr gave you the gift for a reason. And I see you have courage and desire to help others by what you've said to me." I held up a hand to halt the rush of questions and thanks that I sensed was coming. "Before you make a decision, please listen to me."

He settled down again, quiet and attentive. "To be a paladin, Casavir, is not a pleasantry out of storybooks. We are not fighters happily gifted with spells to complement our mastery of the sword. Ours is not a profession, to be changed for another one as easily as a new tunic. Many think of us as having a _calling_ , one which binds you to the duty and service of others. It is a complete devotion to a way of life, as a paladin is the symbol that every person of our lands knows they can believe in to find goodness and hope. Not many can travel our path, and many who begin the journey will find it too difficult to stay the course."

I looked again at him, seeing the slender shoulders, the soft child's features. I had been twenty-one when I had met with Tyr in the mountains and chose to accept his calling to walk a paladin's path. Young still for a half-elf, but old enough that I had lived life to the hilt in Thundertree. I had laughed, loved, and lain with a man, until that simple life was torn away from me. And for eighteen months in the Sword Mountains I had given in to my fury and desire for revenge, and came to know their cost. I had come to my decision with the full wisdom of knowing what being a paladin would mean.

Paladins often led a lonesome life. It was no coincidence that we tended to wed among our own kind, and not only for the fact that it more easily founded families who would certainly provide Toril with generations of paladins to come. It was difficult for anyone not also bound to our oaths to marry a person already wed first to their duty; and to come to accept that they must always come second to the needs of the people. He would think nothing of that now, before he was old enough to understand sexual desire, romantic love, and the need for companionship. But it wouldn't always be so.

He was eight now, full of conviction and innocence. What would he think eight years hence, when he was growing into a man's strength and a man's desires, without yet having a man's certainty to balance them? How would he feel then about yoking his future to servitude, of channeling his passions and emotions into the duties of a righteous life before keeping only whatever pieces remained for himself?

For a child already made serious and too old for his years by loss and ordeal, I wondered if I had the right to sculpt him further into such a mold and deny him much of what remained of an ordinary childhood; its mischief and simple pleasures.

There were also risks I couldn't fully explain to one so young, to speak of the darkness that existed in some people in response to our very existence. As paladins, we were always were uniquely vulnerable to the torments of those who couldn't bear a symbol of sheer goodness, and felt the need to try and corrupt or destroy us however they could. It ranged from stupid fools in taverns trying to starts fights with deliberate blasphemy, all the way to sadists who took pleasure in trying to break a paladin by whatever torture their cruelty devised.

The lore of paladin orders was filled to the brim with holy martyrs. Many in the militaristic faiths died too young. Hannia Truewater, the paladin two centuries ago that Hlam had mentioned, had been tormented by a warlock for three weeks before he killed her. She had given her life to Ilmater at seven. She was only twenty-two when she died with barely an intact joint left in her body after a horrific ordeal of torture called the "Dark Raven", but she remained a true servant of her god to the last.

And despite it all, Hlam's words came back to me. _If a good candidate exists, we would be remiss in our duty to Tyr and the people of this land not to encourage him._ He knew the words to eliminate my doubt, all right, when he chose to speak of my duty to Tyr and the people.

By law, no one could assume a patron deity or swear binding oaths until they reached the age of their majority, to prevent rash and irresponsible decisions. So as a human, he couldn't take vows as a paladin of Tyr until he reached seventeen. Still very young to have full wisdom, but at least by then he would know far more of what exactly he would gain and lose and his decision would be better informed. Until then, I could only offer him the chance.

I looked at him, and did my best to be honest. "Here is truth for you. I offer you a life of ceaseless devotion to others and often forsaking your own concerns so that others may be first served. You may very well die long before the full span of your years; if you serve as a paladin in a time of strife, you will be fortunate to reach thirty. If you survive, you may be alone for years before you find someone willing to love you for both a man and a paladin, if you should ever find her at all. There will be some who either think your goodness and compassion to be just a mummer's sham, or hate and fear all that you stand for and will seek to destroy you however they may, with words or weapons."

He didn't try to interrupt, which I appreciated, and the attentive air about him meant that what I was saying wasn't just being shrugged off. "Know also that Tyr's gift can be used to serve him in other paths; this is not your only way to acknowledge it. You have nine years yet before you can bind yourself to such a life, nine years in which you are free to change your mind. In that time, I can teach you the arts of a paladin. I know you know nothing of spells, but you can study them. Our code of honor is easy enough to learn, though hard to live by. As for the rest…do you know anything of combat?" Politics, courtly conduct, and other such necessary concerns could well wait until he was older.

He had been listening to my speech with such rapt attention that he looked surprised that I actually had asked him a question. "What? N-no, ma'am." He shrugged helplessly. "But every house keeps its weapons hung over the hearth in case the Luskans come raiding. They hadn't attacked in an age, but they came late last year, and Mum told me to go run into the forest. There were five of us hiding out there, and we had to keep Arilla quiet…she's only four and kept trying to scream her head off. We found out in the morning the raiders got beaten back, but my friend, Martin...he didn't get away like the rest of us, and they almost took him, but his da fought them off."

I stared at him, finally thinking about his home and realizing that Riverbirch Hollow, a day's trek north of Port Llast, was close to the northern border. In the last two years, there had been numerous reports of border villages falling under attack, and most sinister of all, several of their children stolen away. Not enough slaughter and destruction that it couldn't still be attributed to simple banditry, causing just enough chaos and killing who they had to in order to seize the young ones, and rapidly fleeing into the night. It had the stink of Luskan all over it, stealing the future stewards of Neverwinter's lands to replenish their own forces while weakening ours.

It didn't shock me that there had been attempts made along the Iron Shore to snatch some of their sons and daughters. The people there were renowned as fierce, almost recklessly brave warriors; even their womenfolk often knew how to handle weapons with skill. And so too, I was equally unsurprised that Luskan had met with little success there. Fearless warriors would fight to the death to protect their homes and children, and the land itself was inhospitable: the coastal settlements there were built between the high sea cliffs and thick pine forest, and were difficult to assault. So Luskan, bit by the teeth of the wolf in both terrain and people, had turned their eyes to easier pickings: the cries of anguish and outrage were heard from further inland, from Duskwood to the Fallowmark. I knew Nasher's hands were tied politically without waging outright war on Luskan, but as a paladin it enraged me to sit to helplessly in the city. I had been pressing him hard to take more action, and patrols had been increased, but it wasn't enough.

Each month, more letters came written to their liege of their recent grief, and in the simple words of the villagers, the litany of the dead and missing was somber reading. _Benjan, six, and Lirrian, nine, taken this tenday past here in Ashshade, son and daughter of Kaleth and Vanda Tallpine, both murdered by raiders. Eight others are dead, and as further punishment our storehouses were put to the torch. We can't survive the winter now...Bishop Rettikar, a boy of seven, brown hair and light brown eyes, stolen two nights ago from Redfallows Watch. His parents are offering a reward—five hundred gold for any information. Four children have been lost to us: we could not defend ourselves this time, as this is the third attack in ten months and nine men have already been killed._

I could imagine now that final bequest of the Erelissohns to Brother Yakin had probably been a desperate plea for the priest to take Casavir south to Neverwinter. There was far more at work than the earnest hopes of two villagers that their son, able to read and write, might have something more than backbreaking labor and the reek of fish all his days. They had known they wouldn't be there to protect him, and I could well imagine they wanted him gone from the north, out of the reach of Luskan hands. Thank all the benevolent gods of Faerûn he hadn't managed to leave the city to return home.

So lost was I in the realization of what fate this child might have suffered, and my clenched-fisted anger at the evil being visited upon my lands, I barely heard him speaking again, his voice little more than a murmured scarce heard above the sigh of the wind through the leaves. "My da, he had a war-hammer—a big, heavy one, and it was my grandda's, and his da's back before that. I tried to lift it a few times, see how I did, but I'm just too little. He always laughed and said to just wait, and I'd grow into it…someday."

There was a sudden uncertain quaver in his voice at the last words, and as I looked at him, I saw the trembling of his shoulders, heard the soft gasping intake of breath, and I knew that though he had turned his face from me, he was crying. I had the feeling that though his parents had died suddenly and he must have been terrified in the Docks, events had happened to him so swiftly in the last weeks that he hadn't yet permitted himself tears over any of it.

I moved closer to him, and put an arm around him, letting him put his head on my shoulder. I wasn't the mother he so desperately needed just now, and some part of me knew I never could be, but I too knew something of loss. "It's all right, _nin seldo._ Not all tears are an evil."

After a few minutes, he stopped and raised his head. "I miss 'em," he said thickly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Easier to forget when I was scraping by on the streets, but there's nothing else to think about now…"

"Aye, and as well you should not forget them. To care is not a thing to feel shame for. Don't let your emotions be the master of you, but they can greatly inspire you." I looked at him. "Does what I've told you about your nature and the chance I offer you frighten you at all?"

He nodded, biting his lower lip for a moment. "A bit, aye. It's a lot to take in all at once." I'd have been more concerned if he hadn't been alarmed at all. I always thought that courage wasn't the lack of fear—only a fool never knew fright. True bravery was found in meeting the terror and then overcoming it. Perhaps he wouldn't need much teaching on the paladin's litany against fear.

"Having heard it just the same, how do you incline? I can return for your answer later if you need time to consider."

Though the tracks of tears still shone on his cheeks and his eyes were still red-rimmed, they suddenly burned with a determined blue fire as he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, meeting my gaze directly. "I already thought, and I'm with you, ma'am. Even if it's a hard road and I hurt for it, somebody has to stand up for the ones that can't, or else we've got no hopes at all. Show me what it takes to be a paladin, and you won't be sorry for it."

I smiled, pleased. "Very well. Have you any questions?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, resting his chin on his hand. "Well…what's a slammerkin?"

I almost choked, caught between laughing myself right out of the tree or being entirely appalled to hear that word said so innocently. This was an interesting beginning to our relationship, to be sure. "Where in Toril did you hear _that_?"

"There was a woman that must have felt sorry for me, and she gave me a few silvers to help carry some parcels to her place—it's right nearby, the Moonstone Mask." He gestured through the leaves towards Neverwinter's top-drawer brothel little more than a stone's throw from the temple. I had the feeling that some saw it as a colossal amusement—a person could fornicate of an evening, then sneak out the door at morning light and go a short distance to the temples of Tyr or other gods if they felt guilty over it. "She's a big lady, with yellow hair, and pointed ears like you have. She was pretty nice, but I heard someone calling her that as we passed by. Couple other things, too."

So Ophala Cheldarstorn had been kind to Cas—a few silvers was an extravagant pay for simple parcel-carrying. Of course, the idea of a brothel was a dicey prospect against a paladin's ideals of morality, and I was aware that she freely consorted with thieves and the like, but I knew Nasher tolerated her lifestyle as she was his old traveling companion. I would also readily admit that her heart was at least far warmer than many who lived a more conventionally righteous life. Turning my attention back to his question, I felt myself blushing, and let out a discreet cough. "Ah…ask me that question again about eight years from now."

"All right," he said cheerfully.

With that, I decided that to ask such an inquisitive child if he had more questions was a bad idea. "Consider yourself sworn as my apprentice, Casavir Erelissohn. Your training begins tomorrow morning." I grinned at him. "And I do mean _early_ , lad. Now," I reached for the trunk of the tree, "ah…what do you say we get out of this tree and let Hlam and Oleff know of your change in station?"

Watching him as he scampered down in front of me, I could only shake my head and wonder what precisely I had gotten myself into. And I had thought it would be a boring afternoon.


End file.
